


The Heart of the Matter

by spilled_notes



Category: Holby City
Genre: (if it's good enough for canon it's good enough for me), F/F, Pre-Relationship, after effects of heart surgery, as in all the symptoms are plausible but the time frame is stretched, questionable medical content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: Bernie hasn't been quite herself recently, as they work on setting up the trauma bay. However much she's trying to hid it Serena knows that something's wrong, and takes it upon herself to observe and diagnose. (Or, four times Serena spots a symptom and lets Bernie get away with it, and one time she doesn't.)





	The Heart of the Matter

**Author's Note:**

> A tumblr nonny-mouse asked for: bernie's heart (not quite at 100% from her pseudoaneurysm) is acting up, she tries to hide it from serena but serena knows all.

 

**_i:_ **

Bernie has been off all week. Nothing Serena can put her finger on, just not quite herself. It could be simply the stress of the divorce, she supposes, watching from the office door as Bernie leans against the nurses’ station, blinking at the tablet in her hand before staring blankly into space. She’s been through a lot of upheaval recently aside from that too, ticked off a lot of items on the ‘most stressful life events’ checklist all in one go: getting blown up for one, the loss of her army career, a new job, being outed, moving house. Lots of stress and pressure, new situations and people and rules to become accustomed too. But Serena’s gut tells her there’s more to it – and Serena hasn’t got where she is today as a diagnostician without listening to her gut.

When Morven touches Bernie’s arm to get her attention, having already said her name three times without eliciting a response, Bernie jumps, hair flying around her face as she looks up with wide eyes.

 _Yes,_ Serena thinks, nodding to herself. _There’s definitely something going on._

So she spends the next couple of hours watching Bernie – from the office when she’s completing discharge forms, from across the ward, from the nurses’ station when she’s checking the theatre schedule – and realises with a jolt that this isn’t really any different to any other day.

 _Just how much time do I spend watching her?_ she wonders, suddenly off balance, tugging the hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes automatically note the paleness of Bernie’s cheeks, the lack of spark in her eyes, the way her shoulders are a little slumped, how she just manages to suppress a yawn, all the little tells that things are not well, and very decidedly determines not to scrutinise how attuned she’s become to her co-lead too closely.

*

Midafternoon sees them both sat in their office, ostensibly dealing with paperwork. In fact Serena is stealing so many glances at Bernie that she has yet to finish a single form. And Bernie? Well, Bernie has a sheet of paper in one hand and a pen in the other but her head is nodding, her eyelids so heavy they’re practically closed, and it’ll only be a matter of time before the pen slips from her grasp and clatters to the desk. When it does she jolts upright so fast Serena is concerned for her back, her eyes flying open; torn between concern and amusement Serena fixes her gaze on her computer screen, not quite quickly enough to miss the blush high on Bernie’s cheeks.

Serena excuses herself not long after, makes up some excuse and slips out to Pulses, comes back with a cup in each hand and closes the door noisily enough to rouse Bernie from where she’s drooping. ‘Strong and hot,’ she says, placing one cup on the desk. Bernie gazes up at her so adoringly, her eyes soft with tiredness, that Serena feels her heart flutter and has to look away.

‘Not sleeping well?’ Serena asks, once she’s had a sip of her coffee.

Bernie hums noncommittally, wraps both hands around her cup and holds it to her chest, to the scar Serena can see just peeking out from her scrubs. She only meets Serena’s eye through her fringe and Serena can’t help but wonder if she’s hiding something, if she’s not being entirely truthful. _You’re too used to lies,_ she scolds herself. _What reason would Bernie have to lie about this?_

‘At least you’ve got a full weekend off, plenty of time to catch up. I’m quite partial to a Sunday afternoon doze in front of the TV myself,’ she adds conspiratorially, a warmth that has nothing to do with coffee spreading through her when Bernie smiles.

*

Later they leave together, walk out into the car park side by side. Bernie does her best to hold in a yawn but this close Serena hears the hitch in her breathing.

‘Are you sure you’re alright to drive?’

‘I’m fine,’ Bernie says with a twist of her lips that could, Serena supposes, pass for a reassuring smile.

Serena isn’t reassured, not really, but decides she’ll let it go; Bernie has seen the results of far too many accidents for her to consider driving if she really wasn’t up to it. And besides, she clearly isn’t ready to talk about whatever’s bothering her, and Serena knows by now that pushing will only make her clam up further.

‘Okay,’ she says softly, smiles gently and reaches to pat Bernie’s arm, her hand lingering several heartbeats too long before she pulls it away to tug at her pendant. ‘Get some rest, soldier,’ she says, her voice almost normal, not quite able to work out why it shouldn’t be.

‘Yes ma’am,’ Bernie replies, with a proper if small smile. Her eyes remain on Serena’s for a moment before she turns and walks to her car, fumbling with her keys but managing to keep hold of them.

Serena gets into her own car, waits until Bernie has pulled out of her space before turning the key and driving home. Just as she’s about to mash the potatoes and call Jason down for tea her phone pings. She unlocks it to find a photo of pyjama’d legs and socked feet in front of a blurred TV screen, and a tumbler of whiskey held by familiar slender fingers. ‘Home safe and taking your advice,’ the accompanying message reads.

‘Glad to hear it,’ Serena replies, smiling, can’t resist adding, ‘you know I’m always right ;)’

She’s still staring at the photo, smiling, when Jason comes downstairs and into the kitchen with a clatter.

‘The potatoes aren’t going to mash themselves, Auntie Serena,’ he says, breaking her from her reverie. ‘Is something the matter? You’ve been quite distracted the last couple of days.’

‘I’m fine, Jason,’ she says, hurriedly setting down her phone and picking up the masher.

She forces herself to finish dishing up and put Jason’s plate in front of him before she allows herself to read Bernie’s reply, even though she’s itching to abandon the sausages for it.

‘I wouldn’t go that far Campbell. But in this instance you are. Now go and have dinner, I don’t want Jason on my case.’

Serena obeys. As she sits down she feels warm and fuzzy with the realisation that Bernie has made the effort to learn Jason’s schedule, that she remembers it even when she’s this exhausted.

****

**_ii:_ **

Serena walks onto the ward on Monday morning after a meeting with Hanssen and instantly seeks out Bernie. She’s expecting to see her co-lead looking rested and restored, her usual self, but when Serena spots her she’s immediately concerned. Bernie still looks exhausted: dark smudges under her eyes, her hair even more dishevelled than normal, shoulders slightly hunched. She’s talking to Fletch, her brow creased like she’s struggling to answer whatever question he’s asked her. Fletch doesn’t look worried, just annoyed; he probably wants to know how many patients he can accept from the ED, doesn’t want Connie Beauchamp breathing down his neck when he takes too long to respond.

‘Did you not continue to take my advice?’ Serena asks quietly when Fletch has walked away and she’s taken his place.

‘Hm?’

‘About taking it easy over the weekend,’ Serena elaborates.

‘Oh. Yes.’

‘Funny, you don’t look like a well-rested woman,’ Serena says, one eyebrow raised.

‘I tried,’ Bernie insists. ‘Body didn’t want to cooperate.’

‘Ah.’ Serena smiles sympathetically, touches her hand to Bernie’s bare arm and lightly rubs her thumb across her skin.

‘I’m alright, Serena,’ Bernie says, meeting her eye. ‘I’ve managed on far less sleep than this before.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

They’re interrupted by Raf before Serena has chance to say anything more. Probably just as well, seeing as the next words about to fall out of her mouth were going to be something along the lines of _what can I do to help,_ or worse, _next time you can’t sleep you should just call me._ She can only hope that Bernie turned away before her cheeks started to colour.

*

Their paths don’t cross again until after lunch, when Bernie asks Serena for a second opinion on a patient. Serena scans the notes she hands over and listens, slightly bemused, as Bernie talks her through it. It’s a perfectly straightforward case, with two equally viable treatment options. Serena knows which she would choose, and which Bernie would choose (the opposite, of course), wonders if she’s missing something obvious because there’s really no need for Bernie to consult her about this. When she glances up from double checking the notes she finds Bernie looking at her almost imploringly.

 _What’s happened to my gung-ho army medic?_ she wonders, once she’s offered her verdict and seen the relief in Bernie’s eyes. _Not mine,_ she corrects herself, clearing her throat as she watches Bernie walk across the ward towards bay four – and then stand for a moment at the foot of the bed before continuing to bay five, where the patient in question is waiting. _But something’s not right, nonetheless._

‘Raf?’ she calls as he passes the open office door.

‘Yes?’ he asks, sticking his head inside.

‘Ms Wolfe,’ Serena begins.

‘What about her?’

‘Never mind,’ Serena says quickly, sending him on his way again. _He’d have noticed if there was anything affecting her work. I must just be reading too much into it._

 

**_iii:_ **

‘How did you sleep?’ are the first words out of Serena’s mouth the following morning, as she sets a cup of coffee down in front of Bernie.

‘A bit better, thanks,’ Bernie replies, her eyes fixed on the cup as she draws it closer.

‘Really?’ Serena asks.

Bernie looks up through her fringe, blushes slightly when she sees Serena’s raised eyebrow. ‘I’ve seen 4.30am more times than I care for recently,’ she concedes quietly, gaze dropping to the desk, spinning the cup around between her palms. Her head snaps back up when Serena reaches for her, when Serena gently rubs at her shoulder.

‘Anything I can do?’ Serena asks – lets herself ask today, unable to stop herself voicing her wish to help, to make things better.

Bernie shakes her head. ‘But thank you,’ she smiles.

‘Well, you know where I am,’ Serena says with one last pat to her shoulder, moving around to her own chair.

‘I do,’ Bernie agrees.

‘Just a call away,’ Serena insists, knowing even as she does that Bernie won’t call, would never admit to that level of weakness, wonders just how bad things would have to get for her to do that. ‘I’ll even cover for you if you want to take a nap in the on call room,’ she adds, winking when Bernie looks over at her, delighted beyond reason when Bernie laughs.

*

She’s less delighted later, when she comes back from theatre to find Bernie squinting at her computer screen, and wonders if she’s going to have to prod her about going to the opticians.

‘How are you getting on?’ she asks as she crosses to sit in her chair, deciding that’s a battle best left for another day if it turns out to be necessary.

‘Remind me again why I agreed to overhaul the trauma system?’ Bernie groans, rubbing at her eyes.

‘Not enjoying all the admin, I take it?’ Serena asks, chin resting on her hand as she looks at Bernie.

‘I know it’s necessary, but I’d far rather just get on with it.’

‘Nearly there,’ Serena soothes.

Bernie looks across at her, still squinting slightly, turns her head so she’s looking at Serena side on. ‘Thank goodness. I can’t wait to get back into theatre more.’

‘Forgotten what a scalpel looks like?’ Serena teases.

‘Something like that,’ Bernie sighs.

‘Nearly there,’ Serena repeats. ‘And it’s all going to be worth it.’

Truth be told, Serena’s rather glad Bernie’s hardly scheduled to be in theatre this week. Not that she thinks Bernie would put patients at risk, not that she’s concerned enough to _not_ want her operating; she’d still choose a sleep deprived Bernie over any other surgeon in the hospital. But all the same, even a thirty second lapse of concentration can be the difference between saving or losing a limb – between saving or losing a _patient_. And if Bernie’s vision is bothering her too…

 _Call it a fortuitous concurrence of events_ , she decides, watching as Bernie rubs her eyes again and blinks at her computer. _At least I’m spared having to say anything for now._

 

**_iv:_ **

Serena walks onto AAU the next morning, smiling at the nurse who holds the door open for her, and heads straight for the office. Mouth open ready to greet Bernie, she freezes just as she’s about to step over the threshold. Bernie is sat at her desk, eyes screwed shut, her face the closest Serena has ever seen to a grimace, her whole body tense in a way that’s bound to leave her aching. One hand is gripping the thigh of her scrubs, fist clenched, knuckles white, nails, Serena guesses, digging hard into her palm and leaving crescents in her flesh. The other is pressed to her sternum, to where, hidden beneath skin and scar, the bone is gradually knitting itself back together.

Comprehension dawns, everything Serena has observed recently dropping neatly into place to provide her with the correct diagnosis: Bernie is still suffering the after-effects of her heart surgery, and is trying to just carry on as normal.

 _Of course she is,_ Serena thinks, exasperated. She allows herself a moment to just look at Bernie, to feel all the longing to take care of her: to knead at her taut shoulders, to remind her to do her physio and take her painkillers – to bully her into it, if necessary. To gently press the heel of her own palm to Bernie’s sternum and distract her from the pain with murmured tales of Holby before she arrived. To hold her at the end of a long day. To be there beside her when she wakes in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep.

 _Wait, what?_ Serena shakes her head sharply to dislodge that unexpected line of thought, clears her throat and tries to look like she’s just arrived rather than like she’s been standing watching, smiles softly when Bernie startles and opens her eyes.

‘Before you ask, I had a lovely nap when I got home, had dinner and then got a few hours before spending the early morning dozing in front of some godawful programme about traffic cops.’

‘Ah, I see I’ve become too predictable in my old age,’ Serena teases.

Bernie opens her mouth to protest but snaps it closed when Fletch raps on the doorframe.

‘I’m a bit concerned about Mr Jeffries, if one of you could come and take a look?’

‘I’ll go,’ Serena says, certain she doesn’t imagine the flash of relief in Bernie’s eyes.

Two strides out of the door she glances back over her shoulder to see Bernie’s hand on her sternum again, wrist nestled between her breasts, fingers curled under in a loose fist apart from her index finger, the tip just resting on her clavicle beside the hem of her scrubs.

 _It’s normal,_ she reminds herself. _Just her body healing itself. It’ll pass._

It doesn’t stop her worrying, though, doesn’t stop her wishing she could take Bernie’s pain away.

 

**_+1_ **

A clatter and a thud from the office stop Serena in her tracks. She whips her head around, her feet already moving before she even thinks about it, pulls the door closed behind her and rushes to crouch beside Bernie, fingers automatically seeking the pulse in her wrist.

‘Just stay down there a moment,’ she murmurs when Bernie opens her eyes.

‘What–?’ Bernie mutters, struggling to push herself up.

‘I said stay there,’ Serena repeats, the slightest waver in her voice. Satisfied, she relinquishes her grip on Bernie’s wrist, instead gently brushes her fringe back from her eyes. ‘Alright?’

Bernie nods, lets Serena help her up until she’s sat leaning against the side of the desk, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands.

‘Here.’

She looks up, smiles weakly as she takes the bottle of water Serena’s holding out and sips slowly, barely managing not to spill any.

‘Still going to insist there’s nothing wrong?’ Serena asks, sitting down on the floor next to her, their knees just touching.

Bernie says nothing, just stares at the wall.

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Give me some credit, Bernie. I may not be a cardio expert, but still.’

‘I just didn’t want to make a fuss,’ Bernie says quietly. ‘Anyway they’re all normal symptoms, there’s nothing you can do to help.’

‘I know. But I can be there for you,’ Serena says, gently touching Bernie’s knee. ‘You don’t have to do everything alone, Bernie. We’re a family down here, you know that.’

Bernie nods, and Serena’s surprised to see that she’s holding back tears.

‘Why don’t you take a couple of days off?’ she suggests, thumb rubbing circles around Bernie’s kneecap. ‘Come and stay with me and Jason, let me look after you for a bit.’

‘You don’t need to do that,’ Bernie protests.

‘I know. I want to.’

‘But the trauma bay–’

‘Is on schedule,’ Serena interrupts her.

‘I wouldn’t want to impose. I can manage, Serena.’ Bernie’s face is stony, her jaw set, and Serena can see the cogs turning as she tries to come up with an irrefutable argument.

‘Give me strength,’ Serena mutters, casting her eyes up to the ceiling tiles and then fixing Bernie with a glare. ‘I’m not saying that you can’t manage. But not five months ago you had open heart surgery, after having been blown up. Macho as you are you’re not a superhero, Bernie. Listen to your body. Slow down a bit, give yourself chance to finish healing.’

By the end of this little speech Serena’s voice and gaze have softened, concern seeping in around the edges. Bernie finally meets her eye, only manages a glance through her fringe before she looks down at the carpet between her knees.

‘Okay,’ she says quietly.

‘Oh,’ Serena says, taken aback that she didn’t have to argue more. ‘Right. I’ll go and square it with Hanssen, then.’

*

Bernie watches Serena leave, sighs and runs a hand through her hair. It’s Serena’s worry that made her relent. She’s been so focused on not giving in, not betraying the new weaknesses of her older, battered body that she hadn’t realised how much she was worrying Serena, and now she feels guilt flooding through her. She wonders why Serena cares so much: they haven’t known each other long, have butted heads and had rows both blazing and chilly, and she’s managed to upset Serena more times than she can count, even if things are good between them now, even if she counts Serena as possibly the closest friend she’s ever had.

She takes a deep breath, carefully pushes herself to her feet and sits heavily in her chair, straightens the papers on her desk (AAU and trauma bay admin in separate, if messy, piles, thanks to Serena’s influence) and does one last check of her emails before logging off her computer.

‘I’m not going to have to drag you kicking and screaming, am I?’ Serena asks when she comes back.

Bernie shakes her head. ‘With you and my body teaming up against me? Not sure I like the odds for that fight.’

‘At last she sees sense,’ Serena teases. ‘Just give me a minute to sort this, and then we can go.’

Bernie hums her assent, falls silent as Serena hunts through the papers on her desk (stacked much neater than Bernie’s own, naturally) to find what she needs, listens to the quiet drag of her pen across the paper until she can’t keep herself from asking any longer.

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’ Serena asks, frowning.

‘Why do you care so much?’

Serena lays down her pen, looks across the desk and meets Bernie’s eye, her expression soft and fond. ‘Because you’re my friend,’ she says simply. And then she seems to shake something off, adds much more lightly with a wink to make it clear she’s only teasing: ‘Plus thanks to you I’m finally getting the trauma facilities I’ve wanted for so long, so I’d rather like to keep you around.’


End file.
